


fault line

by poalimal



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Possessive/Obsessive Behaviour, Serious overstepping of boundaries, Stalking, Unresolved Tension, post-All In The Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not much need for guessing, where Holmes is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fault line

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this midway through Sherlock _insisting_ on Bell's attention in episode 13.

 

 

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," Marcus sighs. Holmes tilts his head, runs his bare fingers through the air at his side, like he's very precisely playing a low-set piano. One-handed.  
  
"Meeting, meeting -- hm, meeting in which way?" says Holmes. His cheeks are reddened from the wind chill; he's apparently been out here for a while. Probably wasn't sure that Marcus would've buzzed him in if he rang.  
  
Too bad that didn't convince him to give it up and go home anyway.  
  
"Meeting right outside my place, is which way," says Marcus, sidestepping his real question and his body as one. Holmes shifts to the left at the last moment; their sides brush. Unbelievable. "Last time you were here this early, you brought bagels. So what is it this time - croissants?"  
  
Marcus always has to be the one to find a pretext for conversation: if he makes it clear that he doesn't want to talk about their...time together, Holmes will find some way to push it in his face; but if _he_ tries to broach the subject, Holmes won't touch it with a ten foot pole. Funny that he should be the skittish one.  
  
Holmes doesn't answer for a moment. "So you like croissants," he muses, taking a generous bite of his singular bagel. He chews for a while. "I take it your year abroad imbued you with certain tastes?"  
  
Marcus doesn't bother asking how he knew about Paris; instead he calmly and firmly thinks of subjects besides Jean-Luc.  
  
Holmes tilts his head. Aw, hell.  
  
"Interesting. Not something I would've guessed, nor what I meant to imply," Holmes says, after a pause. He nods decisively, tosses his bagel away without care. "Though obviously unsurprising, in light of recent events."  
  
Marcus wonders if Holmes categorizes following him all over New York and demanding attention under "recent events;" he doesn't look at him or ask. There's not much need for guessing, where Holmes is concerned.  
  
A crappy little breakfast vendor will have to be it for the morning; Marcus doesn't have the time or interest for anything more elaborate. He's supposed to be meeting Andre in 15 minutes. "So, alright. What is it this time? Joan didn't seem too thrilled by her surprise party last time - I'm pretty sure I'm obligated to tell her if you're plannin' on hiring another zoo."  
  
Holmes's lips quirk upwards once before flattening out again. They're chapped; Marcus almost offers him some Carmax. "My apologies, Bell, but you must be mistaken. Watson has of course assured me she highly appreciated our briefly hands-on zoological experiment." Marcus saw the Facebook photos, read the captions, too; somehow "appreciation" didn't seem to be the general theme. "You needn't worry, however - there is nothing immediate which requires your assistance."  
  
Marcus waits in silence, gives the vendor a smile, his order, and a $20. Holmes peers at the woman suspiciously, aims a frown away and upwards.  
  
"Although..." he says.  
  
"Although?" Marcus prompts, when it appears nothing else is forthcoming. He blows slightly on his hot cocoa. Holmes's eyes track the movement, flick up to Marcus's before returning to a space far above, high on the skyscraper stretched tall beside them.  
  
Marcus blinks, follows his gaze: nothing but sleek, steel blue.  
  
"Last night, I saw you in a place," Holmes starts, still, apparently, staring off into nothing, "...in a place I did not think I would ever have cause to."  
  
Marcus takes a steadying breath. So today he wants to talk. "Ah," he says.  
  
_Saw_ 's a pretty passive way of putting it. As if it was just a happy coincidence that they'd ended up in the same place for the fifth Saturday night in a row.  
  
"Yes. 'Ah,'" says Holmes, rounding his mouth exaggeratedly. "Might I offer the benefit of my company this coming Saturday?"  
  
Marcus shoots him a wry look. Hasn't Marcus been "benefiting" from that this entire time? "Let me guess," he says, instead of saying just that, "you're secretly a world-renowned dog breeder - and you know exactly the kind of dog I should look into."  
  
Holmes sends Marcus a blank glare. Marcus raises his eyebrows, returns it. Holmes darts his eyes away. "A flattering supposition," he says, "albeit an incorrect one. Being a cynologist would necessitate a little more fondness for the species." He sends Marcus a sidelong glance. "Though...(while we're on the subject)...I would be remiss if I did not suggest the somewhat _obvious_ choice." Marcus takes a long, burning gulp of his cocoa, doesn't ask.  
  
Holmes flaps his hands a bit, clamps them to his side. "A Jack Russell terrier would be the obvious choice," he says, impatiently, "and I should be happy to assist you, if buying such a dog were indeed your aim. But no, Detective - yours is a pleasure purely cathartic in nature. Puppies are wonderfully engaging when they are someone else's responsibility. You enjoy spending time with them, so long as you can put them back when you are done with them. No, buying and rearing a dog comes with its own terrors; I don't think you're terribly interested in that."  
  
Marcus shrugs, sips his cocoa. There's also the whole matter of his paycheck barely covering rent and utilities -  plus the fact that his landlord won't actually allow pets in the building. Still, Holmes is way too terrible at being wrong for Marcus to even consider correcting him just now.

Not on this. This is nothing, this isn't even remotely in the universe of Worth It.  
  
As for the rest of it -- Joan said sometimes he fixates, that this is his way of showing he feels responsible, that he'll move onto something else soon enough.  
  
That was three weeks ago: according to her, Holmes's been hosting some kind of special SUNY lecture the past two Saturday nights. She showed him the video of him teaching to a mostly empty room with something resembling pride. It woulda really ticked her off if Marcus told her the truth -- that Holmes spent last Saturday peering at him across a particular room in a particular part of Manhattan with something that almost looked like curiosity.  
  
Marcus doesn't know how Holmes's doing it and he doesn't care. All he knows is that the minute he spotted him, he didn't bother talking to any other men; he just sipped his drink, watched Holmes sip his water, watched him watch him back.  
  
They continue along the sidewalk in silence before Holmes makes an abrupt jerking movement with his left wrist. "It barely needs saying that you needn't worry about discretion," he murmurs. "Your secret is, of course, quite safe with me."  
  
"And with Joan," Marcus says, ducking his head. He'll find some roundabout way of slipping his observations into a routine conversation, probably; Marcus is definitely not going to be the one to give him the ego stroke he so often demands.  
  
Holmes clears his throat. "Ah. No. I somehow don't think Watson will be very interested," he says, cagily. He smiles, though, bright, brief, condescending. "Rest assured, Detective - I have no reason whatsoever to tell anyone about what you do in your private time. Were I a lesser kind of man, I myself might very well spend the occasional Saturday night cuddling puppies in the display window, too."  
   
A lesser kind of man, huh. Obviously a greater kind of man spends his Saturday nights following someone else around and staring holes in the back of their head.  
  
Marcus drains the last of his cocoa - wasn't mixed well, it's goopy and too-sweet at the bottom. "Well," he says, "your reassurance means the world to me, Holmes, it really does." He makes to toss his Styrofoam cup into a nearby trash can.  
  
His hand doesn't tremble or shake - the arc is clean and smooth. He misses entirely.  
  
He picks up the cup without much shame. Holmes has caught him out in much more compromising positions than this. This? Is nothin'.  
  
"I am very pleased to hear it," Holmes says brightly, smugly, almost. Good to see he's back to being immune to Marcus's sarcasm. "--particularly since I am so ill-disposed to being put back myself."

Marcus shoots him a sharp look; Holmes continues on without yet meeting it: "So! I will pick you up at half past 8 this coming Saturday." He flicks his eyes to Marcus's, leans a little closer. Less leaning, actually, and more...looming.  
  
Marcus leans back.  
  
Holmes pauses...grimaces minutely, keeps his distance. "Please do not expect much of your acquaintance from last night," he says, lowly. "I am afraid his various gambling debts will prevent him from attending to you a second time. Or from responding to your numerous texts. Or from contacting you in any way."  
  
Last night, when Marcus'd run into Clay, Holmes had made himself so discreet Marcus figured he'd finally gone home. Apparently the trade-off for that bit of graciousness was actually being _followed_ home.  
  
"...Beg pardon," says Marcus.  
  
Holmes's pocket begins to beep insistently. "Ah! that will be Watson now," he says quickly, walking backwards at much the same speed. "We're still tied up in the half-dead half-sister case - Watson suspects the half-brother, but this edifice has proven quite conclusively my theory that the butler is indeed the one responsible." Marcus aims a bewildered glance at the skyscraper, then back at Holmes. By this time he's almost right in front of the subway entrance - three people have had to dodge him already, and if he doesn't turn around soon, he's going to fall down a crowded stair.  
  
"We shall see each other sooner rather than later, Detective Bell," shouts Holmes. He dips his head sharply. "Until then." And then he turns around, darting and diving smoothly into the heart of the crowd.  
  
"'Till then," says Marcus, with a sigh.

 

 


End file.
